Friday, 19 September 2008

I have a confession to make. Actually, a number of confessions. I’m not actually ashamed of killing a mouse with a table tennis bat. Neither am I ashamed of vomiting in Marie’s duffle hood and hair. Nor pretending I had a girlfriend or stealing an illustrated bible. If I’m honest, I’m actually rather (now not so secretly) proud of all of those things. I think they show character. A bit of spunk. I am however, ashamed of this next thing. Heartily so. I’m also a little apprehensive about telling it. That’s why I left it till last. I think you’ll be rather disappointed in me. I’m certainly disappointed in myself.

‘Just go out for a drink with her,’ she urged. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’

‘I dunno,’ I replied. ‘Murder?’

‘Oh, she’s not going to murder you, Stan. For fuck’s sake. It’ll just be a drink. It’s no big deal. Go on. I bet you’re desperate. I bet you haven’t had sex since the last time we did it, have you?’

‘You’d be surprised,’ I said. I don’t know whether it was because I’d paused slightly too long or just because Avril knew me quite well.

‘I’d be amazed,’ she said, and she laughed her golden, throaty laugh.

…

Digression

There are certain things in this life which I really, really hate. For example, I hate being judged by the way that I look.

I hate it when people dismiss me because of how I look, carelessly overlooking any other qualities I might have.

I hate shallow people.

I hate rude people.

I hate cowards.

And I hate hypocrites.

…

Grace was sorry she was late. I told her it didn’t matter. And it didn’t. It was only five minutes after all. However, what did matter, apparently, was how she looked.

Avril had described her as tall with red hair. This was a little inaccurate. Actually it wasn’t exactly inaccurate. It was just misleading. She was tall, yes. But she was also wide. Very wide. She did have red hair too, roughly. It would have been slightly more accurate however, to describe it as copper-coloured, and insanely frizzy. She was certainly striking though. She reminded me of an enormous mid-op transsexual with a terrifying, bright ginger afro.

The fact is, from the moment she sat down opposite me, I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of our date working out.

The fact is, I didn’t fancy her. At all.

The fact is, I thought she was hideously ugly.

I know. Me. With my reputation.

If she had felt the same about me, everything would have been a piece of cake. But she didn’t. It would also have been easier if we hadn’t got on at all, if we’d had absolutely nothing in common. But unfortunately this wasn't the case either. On the contrary, we got on fine. She was intelligent. She read books. She was doing an MA on something to do with Jane Austen. She liked cats. The one thing that might mitigate my overriding desire to flee from her presence was that she seemed, how can I put this, slightly psychologically delicate.

First up, she was a bit full on. I swear it’s not just that I have Groucho Marx syndrome and I’m appalled by anyone offering me membership to their club, but I do feel slightly uncomfortable in the face of unremitting compliments. Grace seemed to think I was wonderful, and after 30 minutes of conversation, she was already plotting our life together.

‘People like us need to stick together,’ she said at one stage.

‘People like us?’ I queried. ‘What are we like?’

‘Well, you know. You’re no George Clooney,’ she said. ‘And I’m no Catherine Zeta Jones.’

‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘I suppose not.’

‘I want to have kids,’ she said.

If I’d been drinking at that point, I might very well have showered her in Guinness foam. But I wasn’t. In fact, I’d finished my first pint. I ignored her rather previous revelation and asked her if she’d like another drink.

‘No, I’ll get these,’ she said. ‘Same again?’ And she made her way to the bar.

I had to get out of there. I decided to tell her when she came back from the bar. It wasn’t going to work out. I’d tell her so. It'd be fine.

‘What are you doing next Friday?’ she said, placing another Guinness in front of me.

I realise this might seem rather like Ian Huntley wagging a disapproving finger at Ian Brady, but Grace really was horribly overweight. I feel rotten saying that, I really do, but I believe I can justify it to a certain extent. I am and always have been repulsed by my own body fat. I stand in front of the mirror clutching at my buttocks and scowling, grabbing my belly and slapping my moobs and spitting vile rebukes at myself. So if I’m repulsed by my own fat, surely I’ve every right to be repulsed by other people’s?

…

‘I’m having a few people for dinner on Saturday.’ That’s how she phrased it. In such a way that even if she hadn't been as large as she was, it would automatically have occurred to anyone with a sense of humour to make some kind of joke about cannibalism. I can’t remember exactly what I said, but it was something about admiring a woman with a healthy appetite. I thought I was being rather witty but Grace did not. Her face immediately crumpled.

‘Why do you want to hurt me?’ she said.

I was mortified. I knew it was an odd reaction to a fairly inoffensive comment, but still, I reacted. ‘I don’t!’ I cried. ‘Honestly, that’s the last thing I want.’

She smiled a small smile. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘So you’ll come?’

I started shaking my head. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I should.’ I forced myself to speak the next sentence, sure that it would bring about an end to the evening. ‘I’m not sure this is going to work out,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry.’

Yeah. That would do it.

‘Don’t you like me?’ she said, all plaintive and furrowed. ‘I thought we were getting on.’

‘We are!’ I protested, slightly too much. ‘We’re getting on great.’

‘Phew!’ she said. ‘That’s a relief. God. I thought for a second you were going to say you didn’t want to see me again.’

‘Oh…’

I was incapable of finishing my sentence.

She was nodding at me, smiling. ‘I really like you,’ she said. I smiled back. It was Marwood’s smile in Withnail and I when he has no idea how to cope with Uncle Monty’s advances.

‘I’ve just got to pop to the loo,’ she said. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

‘I won’t,’ I said.

As soon as she was gone, I took a pen from my pocket and searched around frantically for a piece of paper. Finding none I picked up a beermat and scribbled on it. ‘Sorry. Had to go.’ I placed the beermat next to her drink and I walked swiftly and decisively out of the pub. I didn’t look back.

Her bag and coat were left untended on her chair. I took the risk that no one would steal them.

All the way home, I imagined her reaction on returning from the toilet. She’d see that I was not sitting at the table. She’d look to the bar, around the rest of the pub. She’d sit down and wait. Eventually she’d see the beermat. She'd read the note.

I couldn’t believe what I’d done. But I’d definitely done it.

The next morning I got a call from an incredibly pissed off Avril. Grace had just left her house. ‘She was crying her eyes out all night,’ she said. ‘What the fuck do you think you were playing at?’

I had no excuse. It was cowardly. And it was incredibly mean. And I should have known better. I did know better. I knew much better.

Avril swore a lot, and when I wouldn’t assure her that I’d do everything I could to make it up to Grace, she hung up on me.

We haven’t spoken since.

...

I enjoyed writing this week’s other posts because, as I said earlier, I wasn't really ashamed of any of the things described in them. However, I didn’t enjoy writing this one.

This is probably the one I needed to write.

…

I’m sorry if I’ve gone down in your estimations. I’m sorry for going down in my own. If you can bring yourself to, please leave your worst date behaviour in the comments.

35 comments:

You're aware of your actions, so that's the main thing, but on the other, blind dates are (in my opinion) set up to fail. People immediately know, the moment their matchmaking friend glosses over the blind date, thinking that a general description is sufficient.It's also rare to come across an extraordinarily happy couple, to hear them say, 'oh yes, we met on a blind date!' Every one has, if they search deep down, a moment of shame or a few moments of shame that arise from life throwing a few curve balls (or medicine balls) in one's direction. Blind dates, to me, are like medicine balls. They give me the creeps now, but that's after so many blind dates. A friend of mine can go on and describe someone as Jesus, and there's no way I'll go ahead with the date at this point in my life."But would you prefer to be alone?""Yes, why...I don't have to fight over the blankets, the last block of chocolate or have anyone barge into the loo while I'm doing my number twos!" is my usual response.

Someone just recommended your blog to me and I'm so pleased she did. It's bloody brilliant, and I'll be linking to it immediately. But not before telling you that I've been known to use the 'emergency telephone trick' on more than one date. The one where you text your mate from the loo, asking them to call you back in 15 minutes with a phantom emergency that'll get you out of the date without having to tell the truth of why you want out in the first place. THIS is cowardly. Not telling your date the truth and saying ta-ra on a beer mat. Hats off to you.

Actually, I once did almost exactly the same thing myself. It wasn't a blind date but he turned out to be so completely different on our date from the way he behaved at our initial meeting that it might as well have been.

I was so stricken with the horror of it all that I told him I was nipping to the shop to get some cigarettes and then just ran and ran and ran as fast as I could go.

In my defence I was actually slightly frightened of him. His idea of first date conversation was to launch into an impassioned rant about the unfairness of men being convicted of rape when it was just one person's word against another's. He got so agitated about the whole subject that it was hard to avoid the conclusion that he had personal experience of this.

He then started giving me a very detailed description about his gym routine and kept telling me how strong he was and how much stamina he had. Every time he said the word 'stamina' he winked at me and said 'Do you know what I mean?'. Well, I was only 18 and had led a very sheltered life, but yes, I did know what he meant. I was very innocent in those days, and a bit prim, so I was actually quite shocked that he would say something like that on a first date. I was expecting a nice, polite conversation about books and what films we liked and what our parents did for a living.

Imagine my delight when he then started telling me about how he 'really knew how to please the ladies' and made several not very subtle references to cunninlingus.

The most ridiculous thing about it was that throughout the whole, hideous ordeal I just sat there with a polite, embarrassed smile on my face because I didn't want to be rude. He probably thought we were getting on famously and couldn't understand why I didn't come back.

Ummm... if it makes you feel better Anastasia- I don't think I would date Jesus either. I've never found him sexually attractive.

Ok- To you Bete:

It's not wrong to find someone unattractive. It's all well and good to say that you date on personality alone- but there has to be some level of physical attraction there too.

For people that assume unnattractive people (that is people who are not considered to meet the social norms set for beauty) don't have specific wants and desires in regards to aesthetics- is very small minded.

They're ugly they should totally fall head over heels for eachother! They can't have any preference, because they are ugly and know how it feels to be turned down-Bah! Ugly people are like stunted trees reaching for the sun.

So, I don't think any less of you for not finding her attractive.

However, I could say something about your level of repulsion-but i've heard it said that you hate in others the qualities you don't like in yourself.

What I do think is awful, is that you walked out on her. OK, you did not find her appealing. Yes, from your story she seemed a bit desperate. But she also seemed, smart and funny, and nice enough to shower you with compliments.

She didn't deserve to be publicly humiliated because you found her unnattractive. Just because she looked like an "enormous mid-op transsexual with a terrifying, bright ginger afro," doesn't mean she didn't have feelings. Gingers have feelings too.

You should've just told her the truth- then maybe you could have been friends.

Or

you could have done what most people do and finish the date but not return her phone calls and hope she got the hint (which is also callow-but at least not publically humiliating).

You already know this- that's why you wrote it.

However, if you're really looking for catharsis- perhaps you should try to aplogize to her now. I don't understand why you didn't feel that she deserved that much then.

I agree with your actions here. You are under no obligation to like someone just because they like you.

And you had attempted to let her down easy, this did not work. And while the note was a bit cowardly, better she be left in the dust then versus a few dates or even a few years later. You are only human for chrissakes, leaving a note was admirable in that it left her with no confusion about where you stood.

Dating is tough. No matter the degree of hot monkey sex or walks on the beach during a date, it doesn't always work out. You might never see the end coming. But we all need to be grown ups and learn to deal with this if we are to continue to date.

Oh Bête, you terrible cunt. That was just about saved by the Withnail reference.

I'm not the sort of girl that gets taken out to dinner very often, in fact I sort of do the whole dating thing backwards, sleeping with someone in an alcoholic haze and then deciding that I might want to go for a drink with them at some point. So I don't have any stories about behaving badly in the sense of your post, I have however embarrassed myself horribly and as I have no shame I shall tell you about that instead.

It was the unusual occasion of going on a date with someone I hadn't already slept with and he was attractive and a writer so I was eager to impress. I don't really know how to dress down so I was done up to the nines in a pencil skirt and heels, as is my wont. We met in a pub where I hoped to blind him with my personality and alcohol, mainly alcohol, in the hopes that he'd fancy me.

Everything was going suspiciously well when I went to the bar to get a round in. On my way back, just before I reached our table, my heel caught on something and I plunged face down onto the floor with a resounding thud. The contents of the two pints I was carrying flew out all over my hair, clothes and a nearby couple. "Are you all right?" asked the object of my affections, "You fell rather heavily." I joked that there was no other way for me to fall whilst wishing I was dead.

Against the odds the date continued and continued well. When I went out for a cigarette I noticed him staring at my backside. I raised an eyebrow questioningly, "Just enjoying the view," he smirked, and I wiggled off feeling pleased with myself that he found me sexy despite the enormous clumsiness and general ineptitude.

It was only when I got home that night, via several modes of public transport, that I realised in the fall I'd managed to rip my skirt right up the vent, exposing my stockings, suspenders and too much thigh to all. Not quite the classy look I was going for, all in all.

Gosh, I feel relieved to know I am not alone in having done this, and ashamed of myself for having done it in equal measures. The man I left was also as wide as he was tall, but had the added bonus of sweating profusely.

Maybe it's the cold cold core of me speaking here, but I'm not sure you should feel worse about this than killing a mouse.

Of course she had feelings, but that definitely sounded like it might get (sorry) ugly.

I've done something kind of similar recently myself, though there was no beermat aided escape; there was a guy who I liked but definitely NOT in anything other than a platonic way, who liked me in everything BUT a platonic way. He made out he was interested in friendship. I made out I was interested in nothing but. I don't think I have to write the ending.

Oh, how I enjoy you! Even if it's shameful you pull it off with class and grace. I'm not going to shame you about your latest post. I suspect you feel bad enough. I have thoroughly loved shame week.

My most shameful date happened in Nanaimo, BC. We had to get there by ferry so there was no escaping this date. This guy invited me to come to some event at his hunting and fishing club and I accepted his invitation because I felt sorry for him. The event was horrible. I stuck out like a sore thumb because I wore normal regular people's clothing while these people wore a lot of gingham and bad denim. We also had to eat the things that these hunters had killed so cougar and deer were on the menu. Cougar! So, it was awful and I was miserable and he was painfully nice and I wasn't. I barely spoke to him or any of his friends. Then by some miracle (I thought it was a miracle anyway) I lost my voice, so I had my out. He was still nice. He won me a stuffed lion and continued to be nice. Then from the drive to the ferry to the ride on the ferry to all the way back home I said nothing. On the ferry I buried my face in magazines and when I would see him walking towards me I would pretend that I didn't notice him.

The date was bad for me (a gaming club... really?), but I bet it was 20 times worse for him as I was a complete bitch.

You behaved badly. But most of us do at some point or other, and it does sound as though she made it hard for you to reject her by politer means. Of course you shouldn't have done what you did, but the very fact that you're ashamed of it makes you a much better person than the time of person who really ought to be ashamed of such behaviour, if that makes any sense at all.

My worst? Well it's not exactly date behaviour, more like whole relationship. I had casual sex with someone who was incredibly promiscuous and often had casual sex. I was in a relationship, but it was an open one, so theoretically everything was tickety boo. But I carried on seeing her, and we fell in love with each other, and I kept ending it with her because I felt so guilty about it all but then I'd get back together with her again, and I kept encouraging her to be in love with me and telloing her how much I loved her even though I knew full well it oculd never go anywhere, and the whole thing was messy and awful and the only person I felt I could lean on throughout my angst was my boyfriend, who not only had to deal with me being in love with someone else but had to hear me go on about how difficult and painful it was and how upset I was about it all, at great length, ad infinitum, through all the break-ups and the getting-back-togethers and... argh.

I shouldn't have gone back with her after we first aplit up. I shouldn't have encouraged her to fall in love wih me. I shouldn't have used my boyfriend as a sounding board. I hurt all three of us, quite a lot. The whole thing was a fiasco from start to finish. It's about the only thing in my life that I genuinely regret and am ashamed of. Generally I have no shame and don't believe in regret.

hmmm...well, I HAVE excused myself for the loo and not return bit ... but since you've aced that one, here's another example of the wicked, wicked woman I've been in my life.

I was dating a fellow, nice enough guy, good looking and all. We went back to his place ... he roomed with his brother. Well we were having a hot old time in the lounge and his brother walked through, shirtless and delicious ... returning to his date in his bedroom. By the next week, I'd left bachelor #1 for brother #2 ... and returned to the scene of the crime for fun times in his room. After passing his brother ... with daggers in my back! At least I didn't do it the same night!

hmmm...actually I've done loads of terrible things to the male species whilst dating. tit for tat and all that.

ah piff, I've done the same, blind date, utter TWAT of a guy constantly staring at my boobs and then confessing actually he had children, where previously he'd said he had none (not a deal breaker if he'd only just been honest at the chatting on the internet stage) and that he hadn't got properly divorced yet (ditto previous parenthesis comment).

I went to the loo and never came back, leaving him and his money throwing ways with a large bill to boot.

And yes I hate cowards too, but I'd already told him I wasn't interested and that I had to leave soon, but he wasn't having any of it.

Great blog post. These itchy ones are truly great for the soul. Mine, if not yours !

ok. here goes. never told this one before. in fact, had blocked this from my memory. thanks (?) for pulling this out with your tale of shame...

my first year at university, i shared an apartment with a blind girl. it was the summer of ridiculous promiscuity for me. screwing the plumber, hooking up with gay friends and their boyfriends, and generally nailing anything with a heartbeat. (no, dogs don't like marmite)

on a particularly slow night, my roomie had one of her friends over - a "dungeons and dragons" type, who appeared to have never mated in his life. i excused myself, and went to bed - thinking that perhaps roomie might put out for him. frustrated that i had suffered an entire day without sex... hearing my roomie go to bed, i went to the couch, dragged D&D boy into my room, and instructed him to fuck me.

unfortunately, i'd waited too long to get to him - as he'd just cleaned his own pipes on the couch. Eagerly telling me that he had fantasized about me at the time. Didn't solve my immediate problem, so i made him service me anyway, giving step by step instructions, and then kicked him out of my room.

When my roommate heard of this - because dork boy had to tell the story to his friends - i denied it. said that he was lying. Destroyed their friendship.

see you in hell, dear? i'll likely be tending bar... what are you having?

I forgot to add my confession. The worst thing I've ever done isn't date related. I was so miffed with a flatemate of mine (rent related, 'living' related) that I smashed their car windscreen via a large concrete brick (it was a two-hand job). I put it down to late teen (nineteen) annoyance at interference.

Worst thing? I guess it's pretty common, but it's mortifying when it happens to you, and funny when it's somebody else. I threw up in my date's car, all over his gear stick, all over his arm. I don't remember much else, but I woke up all clean and cosy and fresh. The lovely man had cleaned me up and tucked me in. Awww! We dated for quite a while after that too! I didn't digust him!

The girl had been fully into me right up to the point where i paid the bill, and i didn't give a tip. I don't think you should tip, in this country (Australia), since it's not the basis of the waitstaff's income, like it is in some countries. Plus, the service had been a little pedestrian.

Up to that point, we'd been lubricatingly good together. I'd been witty, charming, erudite, and i was certainly fuzzbound. But when i didn't tip, she was humiliated. And that was the end of that.

No tipping, no dipping.

She hissed at me as we left how terrible what i had just done had been, and asked exasperated how could i even think not to tip? What sort of person was i?

I know someone who was snogging a girl in a nightclub, and she threw up in his mouth...

...and I know someone else who threw up on a fairground ride in an enclosed capsule which was spinning around, upside down etc... thus the whole of the inside of the capsule was coated with sick, as were all the other passengers on the ride...

That could be downright evil and rude, where men are concerned, but be because you have profusely admitted your guilt and are aware of it all, I forgive it. It was a bloody enjoyable read. One of the best reads online.

I've done a lot of bad things. Nothing criminal, mind. One of my most shameful things was reporting a colleague for 'inappropriate' Internet use. Now, inappropriate is synonymous with porn, and I was aware of that, but the colleague had a habit of bullying others, and I stepped in (the 'masked' office avenger) and although I didn't have diehard proof, only a brief moment in passing when I saw boobs on his monitor, I voiced my concern, via the floor suggestion box, and the rest was history. They investigated his computer histories, and true to form or true to 'porn' form, he was busted and he was given the sack. I went on a wild guess, based it on a brief glimpse of tit, and they found his extensive xxx rated Internet history. Do I feel guilty? Absolutely not. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do - within reasonable limits, of course.

Like someone else said, I didn't do a lot of dating, shagging yes, dating not so much so it's a shagging tale I tell.

At the start of my teacher training course I was still living in student halls and they were mixed corridors. There were two guys on the hall who I quite fancied. They were both my type, swarthy and hairy and fairly similar looking, one of the guys was from Brittany and had a very distinctive name, I'll call him G, the other was English, I'll call him E. E decided living in halls wasn't for him so we went on a leaving do for him( any excuse for a piss up). In the end it was just me, G and E who were out and we were all pretty drunk. I still liked them both but realised I stood more of a chance with E, and so it happened that E and I ended up in bed and the sex was good, really good until in my drunken, slightly sleepy state I wasn't sure which of them I was with and called E by G's name. As I said it was a distinctive name so I couldn't really get away with lying my way out of it. I don't remember the rest of the night but I woke up in the morning and E was gone and I was embarrassed as everyone knew E had spent the night with me then p'd off. I bumped into E a few weeks later in a club and it turned out he had a longterm girlfriend all along so I stopped feeling bad. Now the only pang of shame I feel is that I knew E was a Thatcherite and slept with him anyway.

Too drunk to go into shame just this minute. However, I did pick up a guy in a bar in SF, CA and went out to the avenues with him to his flat to get laid, of course. Walked in only to find that he was more neurotically neat and tidy than I myself. So, quickly invented a story about feeling very very ill and got the hell out of there as fast as possible. First, and almost only, time I didn't fuck on the first date but I was afraid of ending up in a freezer and just couldn't stay.

This shame claiming could go a long way to improving the human condition. Keep it up.

AT, lovely to meet you. And yes, the emergency telephone trick does rather suck. But it’s clever.

Not proud, Vicky, no. Your situation was similar but very different. Your date did sound like a dangerous and rather vile creature. You were right to run.

Hey, Selena, I know. I have thought about apologising now and at many points over the intervening years, but then I thought that that might actually seem like a further insult. Like she might think, ‘Get over yourself. Like I give a fuck what you think now.’ But maybe I should give her that opportunity. Avril probably deserves an apology too. I think I’ll try actually.

I don’t agree with my actions, Mrs H, but thanks anyway.

OGH, that ‘terrible cunt’ took me by surprise and gave me a substantial belly laugh. One I clearly didn’t deserve. I thank you. Your date didn’t sound so bad. A bit embarrassing but kind of funny too. Although the long journey home might seem a little humiliating in retrospect.

Hello, Cat, and welcome. And thank you for sharing my shame.

Thanks for your thoughts, Helen. Now I feel bad about the mouse too.

Thank you, Heidi. And thanks for your tale. What does cougar taste like?

Cheers, Rowan!

You’re a funny one, Clare. I dedicate the first paragraph of your comment right back atcha. Thanks for sharing.

Little Sparra! Brothers! I think there’s more shame in it for the second brother than for you. Some for you too though, for sure.

Hey, Peach. Good for the soul indeed. I hope so.

Daisyfae, you take the cake, you really do. I can’t believe you denied the whole thing. Wow. I’m honoured that you chose this place to share. Now go and stand in the corner till I tell you to stop.

Anastasia, not a great thing to do, but I bet it felt good.

Maria, he sounds like a good egg. It’s not a bad way of testing a potential partner actually – vomit on them on the first date and see how they handle it.

Gullybogan, that sounds like a narrow escape.

Clare, that is truly, truly repugnant. Thanks for sharing.

Ian, thank you. That’s really nice to hear.

Thanks, Snuffie. That’s some sweet revenge you took there too. Naughty.

Anonymous, maybe there was some middle ground you could have taken? I get what you’re saying though.

Yes, Anonymous, I absolutely do. Although I must learn to respond to them more quickly. Catching up with the last week today has taken me the best part of two and a half hours.

Thanks, Anonymous! I appreciate your snides. Good for you.

Aww, Handrejka. Poor old E.

Hey, La Framéricaine, is neatness a common trait of serial killers? I knew it. Never trust a tidier.

How awful for your date, but you already know that. By the way, would the people who think it's ok because at least you're aware, you feel guilty and she was coming off a bit desperate feel the same if they had been that desperate date dumped by beer mat? I think maybe not. Reverse the roles and you posted as the dumpee rather than the dumper (so to speak) these same people would have (rightly) leapt to your defence labelling her a shallow bitch who probably couldn't be arsed looking below the surface at the gorgeous inner you.Rant over. The worst thing I ever did on - well after - a date is also the most shameful. I cheated on my now ex-husband; I went on a date with someone else, slept with him then slept with my husband two hours later when I got home. How horrible am I? I've never told anybody and strangely feel better even just for typing it.Hello by the way, I've not commented before - well not in print anyway!

OK, after you said it wasn't going to work out, she should have got the point. That's not a hint, that's a statement. And you're not obliged to fancy someone. You should have stayed and told her you didn't want to see her again, but whatever.

What ticks me off is that you take her down for her appearance. If you don't like fat, don't fuck fat people. That's fine. But you can't just say you didn't fancy her, you have to go on about how horribly overweight she was. After all, if women are going to go around being fat at you, they should at least have the decency to avoid finding others attractive and *gasp* doing something about it. What's wrong with them? Don't they know how repulsive they are?

Bullshit. A fat chick liked you and didn't try to hide it. She shouldn't be shamed for that. The other stuff, I would run from too. But you didn't have to press that button, Bete.

I've had this done to me several times. Yes, you read that right. But then again, I've run for the hills from lots of men after taking the fake "yes I like you" act too far in order to spare their fragile egos and then having a close call with a coyote-ugly moment.

Blind dates are dangerous. We know within seconds if we're "into" someone. Is it so terribly worse or better to say to someone "I really don't fancy you, sorry" to their face or via a note? I've been ditched via text message and email, and have done the same. Are we all complete prats, or just honest and having a bloody hard time coping with seeing the pain in someone's eyes?

You're human. Learn to live with that.

Also interesting to note that men seem to not really mind an unattractive woman as long as she's not hippo-sized. Women will cope with ugly men as long as they bring another very shiny card to the table (personality is amazing, or they have wads of cash, etc). It's a card game. She was given a dud hand. Huge weight so often = not good breeding material, mainly because there's a psychological connection. Do you want obese kids?

And FWIW, I'm attractive enough to get wolf whistles on the street when in a tight dress, and I still get guys disappearing on me sometimes. Shit happens. I'll blame my potentially shitty personality... or theirs? Depends on whose looking hon.

I am not in line for one of the 144000, but I'ld like to suggest a different tack next time you find your compasion held hostage to an emense emotional terrorist. First off her own priorities comming out that way show her as not having so much practice and terribly lonely. Not trying to point out the pathos, just that she's not really crazy, just lonely crazey. Been there to know.

So beneath those rolls and sags maybe a nice person. Perhaps you let that one go. But could it ever be free and in the shape you want. Steer the converstation toward this new fitness regime you want to share. Make it real, so that you could actually do it. And if she is still interested and supporting then this is the compact on her weight, and yours flub a dub.

I've been thin and fat, and fatter, to know whats up and down on that. No accolyte of thin here, but you could save yourself the useless drama of self rebuke, and enjoy all those real benefits. And that lonely pit she's in could be healthfully worked out as you strive together. Even as likely that once both freed you each split, you split better.

Would it be so bad, to start a new project, and have it be as wild and diffulcult as two new people? You may rebuke that puke in the mirror, but maybe he needs murdering. Take away his authourity and he dies.

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In a nutshell..

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